The Art of Losing a Pair of Pants
by ninajunkie
Summary: Sometimes the best things can come out of the worst situations. Other times, even worse things can come out of funny occasions.


I love this story. I'm absolutely infatuated with it, and do you want to know why? Because almost the same exact thing happened between me and my boyfriend. That is where I got the random inspiration for it. Please, please, please review!!

**The Art of Losing a Pair of Pants**

He was furious.

So furious that steam could invisibly be seen departing his tiny ear holes. Or maybe it was the caves seen from that massive bump protruding from the middle of his face… my mistake. That's his nose.

Either way, Draco wasn't too happy and Hermione could tell from the way he ran around the flat in hysterics looking for something. He mumbled and muttered so incoherently, she could barely make out a few words.

"Burble...cha...not there...mur...mumble" followed by a massive series of more inarticulate words, rather jumbles of words that wouldn't even have the honor of being labeled as 'words.' There was more mumbling going on, and Hermione just sat still on the spot she had long ago donned as hers, pretending to not listen to her husband, stifling her laughter while being amused at his childish behavior, with her face stuck in it's spot in the new issue of Witch Weekly.

"Blasted...mumble...hmm...bah...shirt..."

He appeared from the direction of their bedroom, walking across the living room, arms flailing in the air while he struggled to slip a simple white beater over his inflated head, due to his massive ego inflation from the past...oh...let's say...fifteen years. Maybe his whole life.

"Stole it...gar...pants...humph...bloody...jumble...most comfortable..."

This time he came from the opposite side he had before, '_probably from the laundry room_,' Hermione mused. She tried to hold back a laugh as he walked past her again, at that moment without any pants on, boxers that looked too small for him, and his rear end protruding from the top.

After ten minutes of seeing the broken blonde man walk by her comfortable spot almost twenty times, she finally understood what was going on. He was looking for something. Not just an ordinary normal something, but something he really wanted. After all, who would spend more than thirty minutes of their morning looking for—insert name of thing here—if it didn't hold any value to them. At least ten percent of normal value, right?

At least she knew Draco wouldn't spend that long searching high and low, as if on a treasure hunt, unless if was his hair gel or eyelash crimpers. He was such a girl. Okay, so maybe he would search for something that long. Must have been extremely important to him, though.

She was curious.

So curious, that it was actually starting to itch on the inside. On a spot she couldn't quite reach by answering her own questions. Really, she wanted to just stop him while on his crusade, but she couldn't. This was the first time in their five months of marriage that she had seen him so bent over something. Especially something so strange. What was it that he was looking for?

As if Merlin himself had granted her wish, Draco came back out of the confinements of their room and leisurely started to approach her with that lost puppy dog face still plastered on the front side of his head. His eyebrows were furrowed in the middles, wrinkles of past years showing all too well. Hermione could see the urge he had to just slowly reach a hand up to his mass of chaotic hair strands and scratch his bewildered mind.

'_Oh no!_' she thought. At long last she finally figured out what his highly important search had entailed, and without her furious husband's or a higher deity's help. But she feared and panicked over the pending results. Oh, she could just see that tiny ball of fury inching bigger and taller by the second, rapidly speeding down that conveyor belt in her mind.

"Have you seen my favorite sweat pants?" There was no spite in his voice, but yet there was no compassion. Where was that ending tag that went something like 'love' or 'honey' or 'baby'. Where was the sweetness in his voice that was supposed to be there when asking his loving and absolutely wonderful wife for help?

In the five seconds it took her to figure out what to say, it hadn't even mattered anymore because Hermione noticed his face suddenly drop. It wasn't a dramatic 'falling to the floor' face-drop, but more of a realization, sort of an epiphany.

"Oh, thank the heavenly beard. I thought those were gone forever," Draco replied, plopping down on the couch beside his confused wife. "I figured maybe they got lost during the move."

"_That's_ why you've been running around like a chicken for more than half an hour? Because you thought you lost your pants?"

His face scrunched up in faked resentment and squealed, "But they're my _favorite_!"

"You know…" she began sitting back up on the couch so she wasn't slouching, crossing her arms, making it seem like she was preparing for a large debate on the issue of Wendall the Wicked, "if it weren't for me, you would have never had those sweats in the first place. I introduced you to that amazing comfort that even a mattress couldn't give you."

A wide smile spread on her face, revealing those shiny whiter pearls—courtesy of her mother and father, world renowned dentists. At least in England. Fine, just in the London area.

"They're still my favorite, no matter what you say!"

"Fine, here." Hermione stood up from the couch, bent over and slipped those wonderful gray and green sweat pants from her legs, showing her bottom half covered only in the pink underwear she bought to remind herself she could be just as much of a girl as that man before her.

"You can have your pants back."

Holding them up in Draco's face, she could sense some burst of emotion eradicating from his body, but that blur of dark colors blocked her vision from seeing which side of the spectrum it would lie on.

He ripped them from her hands, gently of course, and set them aside, pulling her down back to sit next to him.

"They're not _my_ pants. We share everything now, they're _our_ pants. It's all _our_ clothing." In all the seriousness of his voice, Hermione just seemed to expect a burst of laughter from him, because since when had Draco ever really been serious?

"Let me get this straight… We share things now. Plates, food, bathroom usages, even clothes. So I'm free to wear your pants, shirts, ties, and boxers whenever I feel the urge?"

"As long as you warn a man before, why not?"

Did the world just stop spinning or did he actually say something genuine? At least something worthy of a five minute applause? Then the world started to spin again and the stars started shooting faster than before as an idea popped into that ingenious mind of that wonderful brunette.

While getting back up once again on her two feet, she grabbed those oh-so comfy pants, slipped them back on, and then left the living room with a not-so invisible light bulb floating above her head, following her in every way she went. Even though she only walked in practically a perfect straight line. She then emerged from their bedroom, unlike the manner Draco had been showing earlier, she walked out composed. A straight back, head high, and all the signs of something mischievous boiling in her mind.

But what was that red thing following her unlike the light bulb, chaotically and flowing each way? What was the mass of fabric jumbled up between those long fingers behind her back.

"Then put this on."

She held out a skirt. That tiny, but breathable, miniskirt that Draco loved so much on her. She asked him to put on her skirt? What kind of madness had been brought upon that super intelligent mind of hers?

"You're not serious are you?"

"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you completely misunderstood me."

"Oh, no I didn't. I just want a quick picture, so slip this on and do a cute little twirl for me." That smile seemed to grow as every second ticked by.

"And what are you going to do with this unthinkable picture from the future?"

"I'm sure your mom would _love_ to see it. She always did say that you could never be more of a girl, and I'd love to prove her wrong."


End file.
